


not the type to hold me down through the year

by tonysnarks (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Character Study, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Family Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, IronStrange, Ironfamily, Post-Endgame, genuine emotional issues, not my best work lol, undergoing rewrites, wtf is a pepper potts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 18:10:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19156252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tonysnarks
Summary: Stephen wishes the silences in Bleecker Street weren't so deep. Thankfully, he has help.





	not the type to hold me down through the year

Between the life of refining his use of the mystic arts and saving New York’s ass, Stephen Strange found he rarely had time to do things he enjoyed anymore. He’d mentioned it in passing to Tony that, after everything, Stephen expected at least a _little_ downtime in repayment for their efforts after the whole Thanos event.

 

He missed the little things. Hot bread, spread thickly with butter. His fingers coaxing notes from the piano. A rainy Saturday afternoon spent curled up with a good book.

 

It wasn’t that much to ask, for a sorcerer.

 

On Friday night the skies heaved with grey. Stephen sensed an oncoming storm, but there was no time to enjoy it tonight; he had a meeting scheduled, according to Wong.

 

The client was anonymous.

 

And Stephen was beyond sore. Fighting mystical beings in the multidimensional universe had been the bulk of his workload today. The last thing he wanted was to be herded into the Sanctum Sanctorum to discuss why some family’s kid continued to be purged by the same metaphysical creatures; and Stephen still showed up, because he liked the people on Bleecker Street. Because he cared.

 

The front door looked less appealing than it ever had before. Dark. Chipping.

 

Stephen entered to find the Holy of Holies silent, as usual. It had begun to feel more and more stifling these past few days. While Stephen pored over books and studies, the rooms felt larger, more eaten away by loneliness and the gaps of quietude.

 

 _It’s what you chose_ , he supposed. _Life as Sorcerer Supreme._

 

“Wong?” called Stephen. He began to undo the tie of his formal suit; the Cloak of Levitation made sure he suffered no embarrassment when walking the streets of New York. “Wong, I’m back.”

 

He expected his friend to magically appear on the entrance steps as he usually did, but to no avail. Stephen frowned. That would be a first.

 

“Hey,” he said to the Cloak instead, “run through the place, will you? Make sure Wong’s not stuck to his headphones again.”

 

Adhering to his command, the Cloak went.

 

While it searched, Stephen decided to see if his client had gone ahead and let themselves in, as they traditionally did. He scavenged the entrance hall, the library, and the artifacts lobby; all places where guests commonly wandered to. They all handed empty answers to Stephen, who let such confusions slip through his fingers.

 

The Cloak had not yet returned.

 

Stephen faltered before he ventured downstairs. Surely if Wong had been there, the Cloak would have come back. Even a threat would have been reported.

 

It wasn’t until Stephen entered the kitchen that he heard the sounds flowing from cooking utensils and hushed voices, and all at once, his arms were falling to his sides as the tension leaked out of his body.

 

Tony had the kids crowded around the island, mixing and stirring and beating bowls of unrecognizable substances. Even the damned Cloak was in on it, huddling around Morgan’s shoulders as Peter showed her how to hold the spoon correctly. Music sounded from Stephen’s favourite vinyl player.

 

 _Nocturne en mi bémol majeur,_ composed by Chopin. A classic.

 

“Wow,” said Stephen, and it was like an explosion going off in the kitchen -- Tony visibly jumped, the Cloak flew from Morgan’s delicate body, and Peter sweeped under the counter to catch the bowl he had just swung at.

 

Tony’s face, recovering from the realization, melted into a familiar chocolate smile. “Whoops,” he muttered. “Strange came home a little too early, I think.”

 

“Hi, Mr. Strange,” said Peter and Morgan respectively.

 

 _Doctor._ “What are you doing?” asked Stephen.

 

“Baking. It’s started out with bread, but Morgan got a little eccentric, so we’re doing a bit of sweet stuff, too.” Tony shrugged. “Wong mentioned something about the emptiness of Bleecker Street so I thought it would be fair to come and fill it up.”

 

“Wong?” Stephen guffawed, but slowly, the dots began to connect. “Hold on, you’re not the… _client?”_

 

Tony’s grin only widened in response. “Maybe.”

 

Stephen’s mouth opened in protest, closed, and then the stove beeped.

 

“Meringues are done,” said Peter, diving for the oven mitt.

 

Not just meringues, it looked like -- Peter pulled the white treats out, along with what looked like lemon tarts, cookies dotted with chocolate chips, and…

 

“Bread,” said Stephen simply.

 

_What he’d missed, hot bread spread thickly with butter._

 

“Sit.” Tony had the table already laid out with plates and cutlery. Little tubs swimming with butter accompanied each spot with a chair. Glasses fizzing with different beverages lined the colorful tablecloth, and at that moment, something like love swelled Stephen’s heart.

 

He did as he was told, taking a seat across from Tony and the kids. The desserts were handed to him, each taking a place on his plate.

 

Thank you was not enough.

 

Everyone was already digging in; Tony bugging the kids that there was too much sugar, Peter and Morgan bickering back.

 

Stephen, instead, looked around the kitchen -- saw the faces of Tony and Peter and Morgan crinkled with mirth, heard the distant notes of _Nocturne en mi bémol majeur_ playing -- and realized the crevices and cavities of silence in Bleecker Street had finally begun to fill with the sights and sounds of home.

  



End file.
